


slurred

by Ominous



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Communication, Consent, Drabble, M/M, and some hinted spiciness, andrew loves him, do I feel bad?, like lots of fluff seriously, neil is a cute drunk, no, nothing explicit bc they dont roll like that, probably ooc and self indulgent tbh, tipsy andreil, useless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous/pseuds/Ominous
Summary: They're not the type of people to give up control, but with each other they're willing to bend the rules.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 68
Kudos: 562





	slurred

**Author's Note:**

> Look I wrote something not in my series, I've peaked loool
> 
> anyways, I was in a big writing funk the past week or so, and I wrote this as like a fun little free write to help the creative juices! never intended to post it but figured why not! This was largely inspired by a curious cat anon I received a few months ago about andreil being comfortable enough to be drunk and silly around each other, and I loved the idea of it! So anon if you're out there, thank you ilu <3
> 
> Disclaimer: this is un-betaed and therefore most likely full of typos im sorry lol

“Waaaait,” Neil slurs, putting too much emphasis on the last letter. He grabs Andrew’s sleeve and stares at it a little too long, like the creases of pleather will aid him in speech. His brow furrows, eyes blinking away the haze of alcohol as best he can. It doesn't necessarily work; Andrew is nothing but a man of his word.

He'd mixed Neil's drinks well.

Andrew doesn’t consider himself easily amused, except for when it comes to Neil. He can admit that now, begrudgingly, but he doesn’t let the smile he’s fighting reveal itself as Neil tries to form words. It probably fails, because Neil is looking up at him again, wide eyed like Andrew handed him the world.

Mm, weird comparison. Andrew's barely tipsy, if at all, but having a drunk Neil in his lap is almost secondhand. It makes his head swim, pulling it every which way.

For once, he can't find room to mind.

Neil shakes his head, puffing out his cheeks while he pokes Andrew's barely-there smile. “Just wait.”

He does indeed wait.

Andrew hums, resting his forehead on Neil's. He does it a little too hard, knocking against him. _What's going on in there?_

Drunk Neil is more of an enigma than regular Neil, but still just as interesting.

They do this now...sometimes.

They're not comfortable drinking in excess around anyone else, but around each other they've started the tradition of stealing away to the Columbia house to indulge in ways they normally wouldn't.

Calling it ‘comfortable’ might be a strong word for it.

Andrew's eyes drift over to the door while Neil's lips brush his sloppily, side-tracked. He returns it, since that's what these weekends are for. Indulgence.

His tongue licks into Neil's mouth, soaking up the taste of whiskey and trying to convince himself that's the only reason he hums into it. Like it's not all Neil, with his body buzzing against his and still thinking, _thinking_.

Distracting, but still, Andrew's vigilant. The dresser in his room is pressed against the door, sealing them in, sealing threats _out_. The windows are shut, his knives are nearby, but he never bothers with his armbands during nights like this.

Neil stays too close for that to be an option, too unwilling to leave Andrew's warmth, and...Andrew doesn't want him to.

And it's the most amusing thing, how he's come to that point, how he's been at that point for so long yet it still feels like a novelty.

The full body urge to deny is barely there.

For some ludicrous reason, his protectiveness surges, and he pulls Neil farther into his lap. Neil's yelp dissolves clumsily into a hiccup, which Andrew greedily swallows. Neil's cheeks are too warm, stained red from his flush, and the soft smacks of their lips are a decent accompaniment to the creak of the bedframe.

Andrew's back presses into the headboard, drawing out more sounds from the wood as his muscles tense in anticipation that won't be fulfilled.

He doesn't drink a lot, partly because he hates being out of control, and partly because it makes him vulnerable. He always makes sure everything is secure when they do this, and there's always boundaries for both their sakes.

In the back of his mind, he knows he allows this, wants this, because Neil is important. The unfortunate flip side of that is...Neil is important.

And real.

And extra vulnerable like this.

Yet, Neil pays it no mind. It's not that he's unaware of it, the dangers of being inebriated. It's why he never allowed himself in the past. But here he considers it worth it, welcome. He trusts Andrew, so it's--

"Hmm, nice," Neil babbles intelligently, pulling away half an inch. Andrew can feel his breath against his lips, and wills himself to not dive back in.

Their boundaries are simple for these nights: no sex, no matter how much they discuss it prior. Andrew trusts Neil to say no when he's sober, not any other time. He would never risk it. But the kissing is welcome, the trail of hands anywhere above the waist is encouraged unless Andrew says otherwise.

And within those boundaries, Neil is as handsy as ever.

Neil becomes fixated on the stretch of the fabric around Andrew's shoulders, squinting until his fingertips press down against the muscle he's looking for. It was giving Andrew trouble earlier in the week.

For someone so toasted, Neil can be terrifyingly aware.

"Am I still waiting?" Andrew asks, and as if the words are a reminder that oh yes, Andrew indeed has a mouth, Neil tries to lean in for another kiss. Andrew stops him, just in time. "Neil."

"That is me."

"Your question?" Andrew huffs out, hand going to Neil's nape to steady him, the roughness of split ends so familiar to his fingertips. He uses his grip to move Neil's head, like a puppeteer, making him nod.

Dummy.

Neil shakes him off with a snort, before he's finally blessed with his eureka moment. "Oh! Did you crush on anyone while in juvie? I don't--I don' _think_ I've asked you _that_ one."

It shouldn't sound so revolutionary, but after so many years, there's not many questions Neil _hasn't_ asked him.

Andrew rolls his eyes, pushing Neil over until he flops onto the bedspread. As tipsy as he is, even he knows trying to sit up is a bad idea, and waits for Andrew join him.

"Seriously?" Andrew scolds, leaning down so he can be beside his disaster. He pulls down Neil's shirt to cover up the strip of revealed skin, telling himself not to fixate on it. "I've never had a crush."

The need to get off? An appreciation for hot men? Sure. No crushes.

Infuriatingly, Neil grins up at him like the cheshire cat himself. "Except on meeee."

Andrew tries to tilt Neil's face away from him, but it springs back automatically, grin wider and wider.

He tries twice before giving up.

Andrew can't fight the urge anymore, as dangerous as the position is. He drapes himself over Neil, bracketing the striker's head between his elbows, and Neil's legs instinctually wrap around Andrew's hips.

They both freeze. Neil at least has the decency to look sheepish, though there's that fire lurking in his gaze, mixed with the delirium and adoration Andrew often can't stomach. Deadly; nothing good comes from that look, precisely because when sober Neil gives him that look Andrew ends up abandoning all other tasks.

But this is not sober Neil.

Despite that, Andrew isn't worried, or antsy. Neil won't cross the boundaries they laid out, no matter how close they get, no matter how much their bodies want it.

There's something exhilarating about that, about knowing they can toe the line without fear of hurting each other. Andrew has never handed someone that trust before Neil, and has certainly never had it handed to him to such an extent.

It's more intoxicating than liquor, than nicotine in his lungs.

"Hey," Neil asks, wriggling in place. Even with the content of his words, his smile turns soft, and Andrew feels Neil's thighs press against his hips tighter. "Wanna do it?"

Andrew throws him an unamused expression, and Neil's laugh is broken up by hiccups. Andrew's glad he cut him off when he did; Neil smells too much like all of Andrew's addictions. Alcohol, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable scent that's a combination of both of them. Neil's shampoo, Andrew's leather jacket...

"I didn't say _let's_ do it, I asked if you wanted to," Neil points out, pulling Andrew down to kiss him. Of course, Andrew picks up the distinction.

It's still annoying.

Andrew lets all of his weight fall down on Neil as he returns the kiss, bucking his hips only once before removing himself entirely. Neil seems less than displeased, body moving slowly until he fits right against Andrew's chest. He knows the drill, knows when it's time to sleep so Andrew can nurse their hangovers in the morning.

Andrew's arm finds his waist easily. Safer, still connected.

Andrew does still have some work to do, he supposes, because only when his face is pressed into Neil's neck, where those glowing blue eyes can't pull him apart, does the word come easy.

"Yes."

And Andrew's not sure what they're talking about anymore, if they're talking about anything important or coherent at all. He's not even sure they're talking about sex.

Neil's brain is untrustworthy like this; Andrew never knows what he's thinking.

All he knows is that Neil sighs back into him, hand finding his.

"Alright, mmm then...tomorrow," Neil stretches out the 'w' this time, giddy with it as he giggles, and Andrew huffs a laugh along with it. "If you still wanna."

And as drowsy as he is, he gets a drop of clarity. _Let's do this day all over again, together._

_'If you still want me, and I still want you. As long as both those things are true.'_

Delirious, the words rhyme and repeat over and over. A mix of things swirl in his head, some ugly, some doubting. But through the fog, Andrew is truly becoming hopeless.

Because at least on his side of things, he can't imagine those things ever not being true.

Andrew's ease grows, pressing itself into Neil like he can transfer it. He has something to blame it on, the alcohol making his limbs heavy, relaxed. But Neil's never been fooled before, and no matter how many times they do this, Neil never forgets anything.

That's alright too, he supposes.

"Ask me tomorrow," he breathes, and regards the door one last time. Locked.

 _Ask_. Because he doesn't mind repeating it.

Neil hums, a sleep spell for the both of them, and Andrew allows himself a pat on the back.

Yes, he mixed both their drinks well, but they're not the reason for this feeling.

If that concerned him before, he lets himself be relieved it doesn't now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope everyone is doing well and that this offered a distraction, at least for a moment <3 
> 
> Now, off to read all the amazing fics I'm behind on (and you should too) ^^


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